


Walk With Me

by rizcriz



Series: tumblr is dying time to get compiling [34]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Crack, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 15:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16956513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizcriz/pseuds/rizcriz
Summary: In which Quentin inexplicably wants to go on a hike.





	Walk With Me

“You want to do what.” **  
**

Eliot shouldn’t be surprised that Quentin’s finally cracked. They’ve been out in the woods for six months, and of course he’s lost his mind. Honestly, it wasn’t ever really completely there in the first place. Look at half the shit he’s done at Brakebills, and his history, for an example of how not there Eliot’s second favorite person in the world is.

Okay, he’s tied for first, but for the love of all that is good in the world don’t tell Margo. The last thing he needs is Quentin’s death on his hands. Though, if he’s being honest, Margo wouldn’t hurt Quentin. He’s her second favorite person, too.

But that’s beside the point. It’s all beside the point.

Because the Quentin Eliot knows and loves–he’s gone.

He must be.

Because he strolled out of the cottage with that big, bright, beautiful grin on his face– the one that’s rare, and striking, and could literally convince Eliot to become a serial killer right here and now–and looked at Eliot, dead on, and actually had the audacity to ask, “Do you want to go on a nature walk with me, El?”

Eliot thinks his response is perfectly perfect.

And the way the light in the smile sputters out like a candle in the wind is not fucking fair. It’s really, really not.

Disappointing Quentin is like kicking a god damned puppy.

“It’s just–we spend all our time on the mosaic. It might be good for us to–to get out. Enjoy the sights.”

Eliot raises an eyebow. “The sights,” He says, all montone, even though he already feels himself giving in. He needs to at least give the illusion of fight. Quentin can’t know how much power he has over him. (Even though he almost definitely does–he’s just too … Quentin, to abuse it.) “Do you mean the trees? The endless trees that we can see from here? In our boring little cottage? That shows us the same boring endless trees every day?”

Quentin shrugs. “Lets see some new boring trees.” The light returns, and it tugs painfully at Eliot’s heart, and one day it’s going to make those three little words just burst from his mouth before Eliot can clamp his lips shut. “Come on, Eliot. We could use the time away. It might clear up a few things.”

“Like maybe purple next to green on the next go around?”

Quentin frowns, unimpressed. “Eliot,” He says, “Focusing on it just makes it blur endlessly together–and then, we’ll never finish it. And then we’ll be stuck here forever. And then–”

“All right!” Eliot says, pushing up from the ground in front of the mosaic, dusting his hands off on his pants. What’s it matter if he gets dust on them anymore? They’re dusty all the time. Everything’s dusty all the time. There’s even dust clingy to Quentin’s hair, that he has to force himself not to brush away. He wnwantsats to hate the dust.

He’s not sure why he doesn’t. But then, Quentin pulls his hair out of the ponytail and shakes it out, and yep–there it is. That’s it. That fucking herbel essences, fucking literal shampoo made of herbs at this point, hair. Quentin has to constantly shake the dust out of it.

Fucking dust.

(thank fuck for the dust.)

“All right?” Quentin asks, as he pulls the hair tie back through his hair. “Is that a yes?”

“Will you stop talking?” Quentin, finished with tying his hair, drops his hands to his sides and just stares at him. That’s a no. “Will you stop rambling at least?”

“Only until we get to the river.”

Quentin starts in the direction opposite Eliot, and he rolls his eyes before quickly following after him. He takes a deep breath, and pretends that a few steps of running isn’t enough to make him breathless. For fucks sake, running from monsters all the time should’ve made his body at least capable of minor exercise. But apparently years of chain smoking, and heinous amounts of drug and alcohol abuse–his body just can’t quite figure out what exercise is.

“Why only until the river?”

“Because then we’re going swimming.”

Eliot’s eyes go wide. “You can’t talk if you’re underwater.”

Quentin rolls his eyes again, but doesn’t turn to look up at him. “Maybe,” He peaks from the corner of his eye, “But, I think we both know i’m so incredibly stubborn.”

Eliot stutters to a stop, because–

Is–

Was that flirting?

“We’ll see,” Eliot says, rushing after him again, “How you feel when we’re skinny dipping.” He leans down to whisper the last bit into his ear, and he takes pride in the way Quentin’s steps stutter out of the pattern he’s got going, and the way his breath hitches inward.

But he can’t help the smirk, as they go further into the woods, and Quentin’s still too flustered to retort.

Game and check.

The air around them grows thicker with the scent of woods, and, well, more woods.

God, plants are boring.

But, the sound of the river comes rushing in, over his wheezing. As they come across he, he expects Quentin to chicken out, but just along the banks of the river, before they’ve even stopped, Quentin looks back at him, somehow nowhere near as breathless as Eliot, despite being just as fucking sedentary as Eliot is, and a smirk of his own dances along his lips.

And then he’s yanking off his shirt, and running down the length of the river.

Eliot chases after him, as the roar of the water grows louder. For a moment he thinks he’s lost him, but then through two large trees, he sees the pale ass of Quentin Coldwater jumping into the calm waters a little ways away from the base of a waterfall.

Holy fuck, has christmas come early?

Who cares.

Eliot strips down, and runs in after him, a careless (and so unlike him), “GERONIMO!” Erupting out of his lungs as he jumps into the water, and lands a foot away from Quentin.

When he comes up for air, gasping in, Quentin’s grinning, all crinkly eyed, laughing as he pushes his hair back from his face.

Okay, Eliot concedes, maybe Q’s not lost it.

Maybe they both have.

But, honestly, he couldn’t give any less of a fuck right now. He feels a laugh of his own bubble up out of his chest, as he splashes Quentin.


End file.
